


Take the Cake

by AnotherStory



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Also Sumia/Silas and Their Clumsy Daughters Are My Beautiful Crackship Family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Characters From A Lot Of FE Games, Dwyer Is A Miserable Barista, First work - Freeform, I Just Wanted To Give My Rarepair Some Love, I Tried To Make Everyone In Character But Beware of OOC, Kaze is Dead and I'm So Sorry But It's For Plot I Swear, M/M, Please Review, Shigure Is A Lot Less Elegant Than He Looks, Snark, They Have So Much Potential, Too many to list - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 08:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14690052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherStory/pseuds/AnotherStory
Summary: Asugi, a part-time bakery worker in the last leg of his twelfth grade year, is exhausted. He dreams of attending the renowned Culinary Institute, but scraping together that much money is difficult when you get minimum wage and your parents believe in Tough Love. But he tries his hardest, and today was no different.Shiro is a first-year college student with a wealthy but guilty father paying every cent of his tuition. Not that he appreciates the unwanted spoiling. After a particularly grating phone call, he skips class to take a drive.They don't like each other much. But Fate, if you can call it that, has other plans.





	1. Inconvenience Powder

**Author's Note:**

> This couple needs more love. That is all. Thank you.

A rush of heat stung Asugi's frozen cheeks as he pulled open the door to the coffee shop. The little bell went off above his head, so familiar that he paid it no mind anymore, if he even noticed it at all. He stepped onto the russet welcome mat, stamped the layer of snow from his boots, and pulled the hood of his thick jacket down to tug loose the striped scarf wound close to his neck. There was the lingering urge to shiver, but he suppressed it with only the slightest hint of trouble.

  
"Is it cold, Sweet Cheeks?" Dwyer, the coffee shop's head barista and good friend, drawled in false sympathy from behind the counter. The imperishable bags beneath his eyes were darker than usual, but his hair remained the same silvery rat's nest.

  
"Rough night, Naps?" Asugi shot back playfully, casting a glance around. There was no other customers in the coffeehouse; it must be a slow morning. The Best Cup was local and sheltered modestly within a row of the neighbourhood’s residential houses, too, so it wasn't as though it was a hub of activity even of the best of days.

  
Dwyer sighed a long, miserable sigh that Asugi had long since assumed all barista obtained naturally upon taking the job. "AP Chemistry test tomorrow and procrastination is my middle name. I keep falling asleep in class." Dwyer shrugged, as though his future dream career of being a nurse no longer held any weight. He was good at that sort of thing. "I'm guessing your usual? Hot chocolate, caramel shot, whipped cream?"

  
Asugi nodded. "The works," he agreed, reaching into his pocket. "Oh, and a medium latte, extra shot of espresso. I'm taking one to Shigure."

  
"You and that damn sweet tooth." Dwyer scrawled down the order on a notepad, then added, "Okay, your total comes to...absolutely nothing. Get your hand out of your pocket, you know you don't have to pay here. Stop having a moral compass and making me look bad."

  
"Jeez, your dad's still giving me free drinks? It's been, like, a year." Jakob, Best Cup's owner, had had his coffeehouse chosen to be the venue of some brunch meeting between a group of bigwigs a good while back, but in his frenzy to make sure everything was perfect the man had completely forgotten to make any type of snack, and certainly couldn't serve them the simple muffins and tarts they typically sold. Or that was his reasoning, anyway.

  
So at his friend's request, and because he was too nice for his own good, damn him, Asugi had volunteered precious work hours to whip something up. Not that he minded. Well, maybe just a little. Luckily his boss was a very understanding lady.

  
"Lifetime supply is lifetime supply," replied Dwyer, failing to stifle a yawn. "Those crepes you made saved his ass. Those business guys still come in-" Another yawn. "-and compliment him on it sometimes. But whatever his faults, and he has a lot, trust me, you've seen my list, he does give credit where credit is due. Even he can't be an asshole all the time."

  
"Are you here by yourself all day?" Asugi marvelled, watching as Dwyer turned to prepare his drinks.

  
He shook his head absently. "Soren's got the afternoon shift with Peri. I'm alone this morning because Nina called in sick, and for once she actually sounded sick, so Dad gave it to her."

  
"You need sleep."

  
"I always need sleep, what's your point?" He set two travel cups on the counter, sliding them Asugi's way. "I marked yours on the cover. Normally this would be the part where I, as a responsible employee, warn you that these cups might be hot. But we both know that you have enough common sense to know that already, and we both know that I really don't care. Say hi to Shigure for me."

  
Asugi went through the process of redoing his scarf and pulling his hood tight until you couldn't see a single strand of his carroty ginger hair. Then he gently took a cup in each hand, the heat seeping through his gloves and sending those funny little warmth tingles up his arms. "Will do. Catch a wink while the place is empty, Naps. It'll do you good. See you soon."

  
Dwyer's shoulder's visibly loosened. "Yeah, see you."

  
He hesitated at the door, ignoring his friend's chuckle, and stared in clear disdain at the fluffy white flakes that had begun to shower down in the short span of time he'd been inside. His hatred of winter came as a surprise to many. He was, after all, a January baby, and a New Year's baby at that. But, oh, how he loathed this season. The snow was a pain to clean, he got cold easily, and all the color just seemed to bleed out of the world. With a deep breath, and an attempted obscene gesture in the direction of a snickering Dwyer, which was difficult while holding two hot beverages, Asugi charged out into the flurry.

  
His teeth chattered within minutes, though that may just be his body overreacting. He cursed under his breath, words his father would have- and had- washed his mouth out for. Suburban residences rolled by as he trudged miserably through the inches of inconvenience powder that had accumulated in his path. ( _Gods,_ he thought in alarm, _I really need to stay off Tumblr at night._ ) If his father wasn’t away on a job he would have been all toasty in a car today, but no. Life gave him some lemons alright.

  
Shigure worked two blocks over, at a small scale art supply shop that as certainly more noticeable than the other well kept, quaint buildings lining the street. Namely, or so Asugi surmised, because of the fact that it was painted not like a normal structure, but rather with constantly changing large elaborate murals and landscapes. There was a replica of The Birth of Venus beneath the store's gold-painted cursive sign that hadn't been there when he last visited- not the original version by Botticelli, but the version by Bouguereau, which he only knew because Shigure had once dragged him to an art lecture speaking about it.

  
He manoeuvred the door open, no easy task while holding spill-able liquids, trying his best not to drop either cup. By the time he got inside the walls of The Gallery, he was beginning to wonder how much trouble he'd be in if he just went back home. Really, it would be so much better for his mental health to be in bed right now. Walking out into that cold white nonsense one more damn time may just be the end of him.

  
The Gallery wasn't officially open until nine, but Franz, a young co-worker of Shigure's with short dirty blonde waves and an enthusiastic disposition, greeted the ginger with a smile and a wave from amidst a small maze of artist-y knickknacks of which Asugi wasn’t sure he could name half. His green apron, mandatory for Gallery employees, was splattered with paint in a very purposeful manner. Shigure had once told him that they were allowed to decorate their aprons to personalize them, but Franz had been the only one to follow through.  


"Hey there, Asugi." Franz, only fifteen and still naive to the soul-sucking void of employment, poor boy, didn't pause in the act of restocking a shelf of oil paints. Besides, he knew Asugi well enough by now to know that he was only stopping in. "Shigure, your friend's here!"

  
Shigure's head popped up from behind a row of blank canvases and smiled gently. The tall boy rose to his feet and glided to Asugi's side. And Asugi meant glided. Besides having taken dance lessons twice a week since he could toddle, his friend had always had a natural grace about him at all times. This was also the reason why Shigure had been the first hint of his bisexual awakening, but that was an entirely different story.

  
"What brings you here, Asugi?" Shigure asked delicately, brushing soft blue locks out of brilliant gold eyes.

  
Asugi, grinning now, held out his offering of caffeine and answered, "Saving your morning, Songbird. Dwyer says hi."

"Oh, you are an absolute godsend! If you wouldn't smack me, I'd kiss you right now." Shigure snatched up the latte and drank deep with little to no regard for his tastebuds. "Hot, but so am I, so it evens out."

  
Asugi snorted, sipping from his own hot chocolate. Behind such a pretty face was hidden a terribly wicked sense of humour, which was what had brought them together as friends in the first place back in elementary school. "You just keep telling yourself that. How's the song coming?"

  
Shigure beamed proudly. "Very well! Mother says she can't wait to hear me preform. My own song, at an actual gig! This a huge step forward."

  
He made a noise of encouragement as his friend launched into a story of how his last rehearsal had gone. Shigure's mother, Azura, had been a singer with a very promising future, but had chosen a simple life with her husband and children rather than the fame she had been so close to. Shigure, much his mother's child, didn't seek renown, only the chance to share his songs to others. It was something Asugi respected about him.

  
A loud thump sounded from the storage room behind the counter, followed by a low muffled groan. Shigure sputtered and scowled, which was significantly more terrifying on someone who held an appearance that was about as threatening as a baby seal. "Oh, my God," he muttered. "I'll be right back."

  
He hopped the counter and marched up the door. His palm came down against it so forcefully that it was a wonder that he didn't leave a dent. "You two! It is far too damn early for you to be sucking each others faces off! Kyle, we need those new packs of pastels in the front window display! Forde, get your pants back on and come help your little brother. You might be the manager but I swear, if I need to speak with you one more time, I'm checking myself in!"

  
Franz snickered.

  
Asugi blinked.

  
Shigure gave him an apologetic look. "Working with couples is hard," he sighed, as though that counted as anything close to an explanation for what had just transpired.

  
"Well." Asugi sipped his drink as though none of that nonsense had just gone down. "As much as I would love to stick around and bear witness to their no doubt hilarious walk of shame, I need to be up the block in ten minutes. Good luck."

  
"What are the chances that all of us have the Sunday shift?" Shigure winked knowingly, though it may have also just been a blink- his bangs had fallen back over one eye, so Asugi couldn't be sure. He assumed wink. "Though, knowing you, you probably begged for it."

  
Asugi scoffed, brushing it off like it wasn't true. He raised his cup to his lips. "I don't beg for anything."

  
"Except in bed," Shigure added, staring Asugi down with mischief in his eyes- or, well, eye. That hair was still stubbornly making Shigure appear to be a boyband member. Asugi sputtered on his hot chocolate, and he laughed. "Just going to leave that on the table. Hey, you're eighteen now. I can make jokes like that."

  
"My birthday was a week ago. Give a guy some time!"

  
Shigure chortled. "Never."

  
Asugi remained a minute longer, just enough to say his goodbyes, and plunged back out into the cold to the sound of laughter. The flurries had stopped. In it's place the wind had picked up, taking snow with it. The swirls danced around his legs in surprisingly gentle circles. The sky above was a blinding slate grey. Winter could be pretty, he supposed, if you were into that sort of thing. He was not. Asugi sighed and kept on walking. It was going to be a long day.


	2. Stay In School, Kids

Shiro hit his peak at five miles. He slowed the treadmill gradually and made sure it had come to a complete stop before he dared to step off of it. Not necessarily because he cared, despite all safety regulations, but more due to the fact that Siegbert would have had a fit. And while Shiro loved the guy like a brother, his worrywart lectures on proper exercise equipment usage was not what he wanted to deal with this morning. Or any morning. Or at all. So in his mind, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Sweat poured down his face and neck. He yanked up the hem of his red tank up to wipe his forehead, earning him a sharp whistle from the left wall, where Soleil was perched in the same wall sit that she had been holding for what he approximated was close to an hour. Soleil didn’t have a leg day. She was a leg day. He shot her a tired grin, which she returned with a smile almost as bright as her pastel-pink hair.

Ike, a third year Conservation student, paused in the middle of a bicep curl when Shiro gestured toward him. Silently- the man barely spoke unless he had something important to say, and never made idle chatter- Ike reached below the steel bench and tossed him his water bottle. Shiro practically chugged the full litre, much to Siegbert’s barely contained chagrin, and gasped out a word of thanks.

He locked eyes with the blonde Business major and shrugged. Siegbert rolled his eyes. “That’s not a healthy way to go about things, Shiro. You need to keep hydrated throughout your exercising, not take it all at once. It’s water, not cough syrup.”

“Yes, Mother,” Soleil taunted playfully, “and I’ll eat all my vegetables and share my toys, too.”

Siegbert sighed, turning to the slightly fogged mirrors along the back wall as though he were suddenly reevaluating every personal choice in his life that had lead him to this moment. Soleil was the daughter of a dance instructor downtown; a man who, if Shiro had put the pieces together correctly, Siegbert’s father had recently taken a decidedly non-platonic interest in. Not that he was one to judge. Gender didn’t mean much to him in terms of who he felt attraction toward. Whatever was going on, Soleil had refused to let it go.

“You seem stressed,” the blonde continued, choosing to ignore the Social Services major. “You were here far before any of us this morning. I have yet to see a day that you would voluntarily leave your bed even a minute earlier than you have to, and I’ve known you since middle school.”

Shiro shrugged and pursed his lips, the universal sign for I Don’t Want To Talk About It, and Sieg’s morphed into one of sympathetic realization. He knew that Shiro had a strained relationship with his father, a proud commanding CEO who swung rapidly between guilty peace offerings that Shiro saw no value in and stern demands that Shiro take over the family company. This morning, as it turned out, had been the latter. That sort of back and forth really tended to leave Shiro pent up.

“Cover for me today, Sieg,” Shiro stated, focusing his winter-grey eyes to some unoccupied corner of the room. “I’m taking a drive.”

Normally this would be where Siegbert would protest and tell him that even if he didn’t choose the Business Administration course he should still at least try to attend- Shiro had heard it a million times- but at that moment Soleil abandoned her wall and cheerily busied herself by pulling the poor boy’s hair into a short little ponytail at the nape of his neck. Which, as it turns out, was an effective distraction. Siegbert chided her, but there was little heat to the complaint. Shiro gave him a pleading pout now that his guard was down.  
Siegbert sighed in defeat. “I’ll photocopy my notes for you. Be careful. And if it snows too heavily-.”

“I’ll be careful. Promise.” Shiro waved to the benches. “Ike! Blue gym bag. Toss it.” Shiro caught it with practised ease and darted toward the showers.

The hot water felt nice on his sweaty skin, and eased the ache in his muscles that were setting in from working out for four hours nonstop without stretching first. At the time he’d been too enraged. Who did dad think he was, calling at five in the morning? If he was that upset about Shiro’s GPA then he could show up in person. Not that it mattered what Ryoma did. Shiro didn’t plan on listening. Somewhere in his bag out on the bench, his phone went off. He ignored it, though his shoulders tensed up instinctively.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hanging his head. Water dripped down his face. He reached forward and yanked the handle back into the off position. The shower slowed to a trickle, then a drip. He pressed his forehead to the cool tile wall and sighed. In the background his phone went quiet.

Shiro towelled off as quickly as he could, shoving his used gym clothes into his bag and hauling out some thick sweatpants and a wrinkled tee bearing the logo of some sports team he didn’t recognize. It puzzled a lot of people that despite his strict physical routine he didn’t much care for organized sports, but hey, it was something to wear. He tugged them on with only a little resistance from the dampness still clinging to his body. He had only brought his autumn windbreaker as a jacket, but it would serve. The gym bag he had bought at the start of the school year fit easily over one shoulder.

When he returned to the actual gym, he was less than surprised to see that Siegbert had left his exercise in favour of a thick novel. Shiro was significantly more surprised to notice that Soleil had coaxed Ike into a legitimate conversation. Specifically about his boyfriend Soren, which made sense. Everyone and their mothers knew that Soleil tended toward the romantic. It drew a little smile out of him.

“Have fun!” she called when she spotted him. That girl never had anything that wasn’t a smile on her face. “Don’t get pregnant!”

“Soleil!” Siegbert chided.

The two of them exploded into friendly bickering. Shiro took his chance to slip off down the hall. He swapped his running shoes for his well worn fur-lined winter boots at the door, shoving the discarded sneakers haphazardly into the bag he carried. The glass door of the university gym was notorious for being easy to open from the outside and nearly fucking impossible to get open once you were inside. No one, not even the director of the whole Athletics department, knew how it could possibly work, but everyone including Shiro had long since accepted that you had to sumo wrestle the door if you ever wanted to escape. Giving a tired huff, Shiro braced himself against the glass and shoved.

The door gave way on the third attempt, and a blast of frigid air struck him in the face. Belatedly came the realization that his hair would freeze in this kind of weather, but too late now. When he made a stupid decision then by God, he was going to see that decision through. Luckily the parking lot was a short jog across campus, though he will admit to stalling for a few minutes to listen in on the Theatre students doing improv warm-ups (“Ophelia, I love L’Arachel! I can’t be with you anymore!” “L’Arachel’s already your wife, idiot!”).

The parking lot was sparse. Most likely because a lot of the people who were stuck with a Sunday class had opted for an afternoon session and had made an escape to town, as was the smart thing to do. His jeep had an entire row to itself. The jeep had been a compromise- he had refused a sports car and his father had refused a truck- but he liked it well enough. It was a ride, that was all that mattered. As long as his old man wasn’t making him show off the money their family had like an asshole, he could live with it. He dug the keys out of his back pocket.

His phone started to ring. He let it. He knew who it was. Dad could get his panties in a twist all he wanted; Shiro was still miffed at him. Shiro crawled into the driver’s seat and threw his bag on the passenger’s, pointedly pretending he couldn’t hear. He buckled his seat belt and started the vehicle with perhaps a little more force than necessary. Before long he was travelling down the highway with the radio loud and his troubles forced to the back burner.

He let his curiosity take him wherever it wished. As he hummed along to some unfortunately catchy pop song, the scenery around him shifted ever so slowly. The industrialized heart of the city gave way to lines of tidy residences in earthy tones, apartments and bungalows brushing the sidewalk. There were some small businesses hidden among the rows. He spotted a quiet looking coffeeshop and made note of it. Soliel was always looking for new places to take girls on dates, gay disaster that she was.

His stomach rumbled rudely, cutting off his train of thought. He hadn’t gotten anything to eat this morning, had he? “Of course not,” he answered himself, “because you’re a fucking idiot.” Oh well. Surely there was a place to grab a bite somewhere around here. Shiro slowed down to a crawl, peering closely at each building. That probably made him look a little creepy, but he wasn’t entirely thinking straight either. He finally pulled up at the street corner, in front of what he assumed to be a bakery judging by the appropriate baked goods in the window display, but the old fashioned hanging sign above the entrance was pained with such swirly cursive that he couldn’t decipher it.

Shiro fished his wallet from under the dashboard. Screw it, he thought. He was a grown ass man. If he wanted cookies for breakfast then he was going to have cookies for breakfast, dammit. Plus, the child in him was bugging him to explore this new-found hidden gem. So he trudged inside.

The first thing that hit him was how much the bakery appeared in the style of some country-style kitchen- all honeys and chocolates and warm caramels and oh, wow, the scent was starting to get to him. It smelled like heaven in there. His mouth began to water. This was, offically, the best thought he’d had all day. Not that that was saying much, but he stuck by it.

A tall muscular man with a girl of about eight or nine years old clinging to his pant leg were waiting by the counter. The girl craned her head to look up at him. “Daddy, can we come get another cake for Auntie Lyn”s birthday, too? Asugi could put a horse on it! Auntie Lyn likes horses.”

“We’ll see, Lilina, darling.” the man responded, ruffling her hair. Shiro recognized the hesitant tone as Dad who is very much coming back to get that horse cake. “Let’s get your own birthday over with first.”

“Yay! We have to go pick up Raigh and Lugh from their daddy’s house, right?”

“Yes,” her dad answered. He pursed his lips. “Jaffar.”

Well, there’s some drama that will no doubt continue to bother Shiro for the rest of the week. He was a closet diva, he couldn’t lie. Luckily the girl didn’t seem to find anything wrong. She just pressed closer and bounced on her heels.

The swinging door to what Shiro assumed were the kitchens flew open, startling him ever so slightly. A orange-haired young man strolled out with the sort of confidence that came with experience, wearing a brown apron speckled with flour and embroidered with the same unreadable cursive. In his arms was a box that looked almost too big for him to carry. Instinctively Shiro wanted to offer to help, but it wasn’t needed, and so he held his tongue.

“There you go, sir,” the boy huffed, setting the box down. His eyes flicked over to Shiro for just a moment, giving him the quickest of appraisals. Then he resumed his conversation with the man and his daughter. They seemed well acquainted with each other.

Shiro’s breath had hitched for a few seconds as their eyes had locked. Not because he felt intimidated, or that the ginger was some sort of epitome of beauty- though he definitely wasn’t hard on the eyes, that was for sure- but because of how sharp his eyes were. He felt as though that single glance had allowed the baker to steal his goddamn credit card number. They were intelligent but disinterested, like a cat, in a way.

The man and his daughter paid and left with smiles on their faces. Shiro moved to the side to let them pass. There was a long moment of silence as he tried to figure out what sort of powers the guy probably had. Was he a spy? A time-travelling ninja? He stood there for so long, in fact, that he almost forgot where exactly he was.

Finally, the ginger behind the counter looked at him again. There was almost an arch of an eyebrow, almost, but he cleared his throat in a clipped, professional way that came with customer-oriented jobs and asked plainly, “Can I help you?”

“Uh...yes?” He cursed himself. “Well, I mean, I was exploring around and saw this place, thought I’d see if it was any good.”

The ginger, Asugi according to his name tag, gave him another once over, this one distinctly more judgemental. His shoulders bounced as though he had held back a little laughing scoff. That stung a little, but Shiro did his best not to let it get to him. “Sumia’s Sweetshop has a little bit of everything.” He gestured to the display cases filled with all manner of goodies. In the centre of at which rested a massive three tier cake decorated to the nines with gold ribbons and edible lilacs to detailed he had to check that they went real.

“Woah,” he breathes, impressed, “who did that?”

“Me,” Asugi answers, sounding proud.

“The whole thing?”

“Yes.”

“You’re really good. That’s so cool.” And he means it too. The ginger couldn’t have been older than him.  
Asugi seemed taken aback by the sudden compliment, but Shiro notices that he softens ever so slightly. “Thank you. It’s expensive, though, so I doubt it’ll sell. Maybe try a cheesecake? We’re sort of famous around here for them.”

Shiro pondered on that for a moment. “Yeah, okay, if you’re recommending it. That sounds great.”

Asugi makes to package one for him, hands deft. Shiro feels the need to make more conversation. The boy was cute and talented, if a bit cold. But the moment had passed, and now it was strictly professionalism.

“Here you go.” Asugi passes a small box over as Shiro pays on his credit card. “Anything else?”

Shiro really, really isn’t thinking at that moment. He knows this because the first thing out of his mouth in response is, “Your number?”

The air turned electric. Asugi whipped around to glare at him, expression frozen again and maybe a little pissed. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice dripping with forced kindness, “did I hear that correctly? Could you repeat that?”

“A-Ah...No, I meant the number for this store! God, I’m sorry, that came out so wrong. I swear I wasn’t trying to hit on you or anything. Not that you aren’t, like, attractive, or anything, objectively, it just wasn’t what I..” Shiro took a deep breath. “Okay, sorry, let me try that again: could I have the number for this place, for future reference.”

Asugi sighs, long and low, but gives it to him anyway on a scrap of paper. “Have a nice day,” he offers, but Shiro knows that it’s just pleasantries at this point. He flees with his purchase, embarrassed and a tad guilty for coming across as a creep.

It isn’t until he’s halfway back to campus that he remember that he never even offered the admittedly interesting baker his name. His phone goes off in the passenger seat.

“Fuck.”


End file.
